Speeches and the Four Seasons
by Willocwen
Summary: A PercyOliver story. Wherein Percy talks a lot, Oliver listens a lot, and the seasons change.


It was ridiculously cold.

Percy couldn't feel the tips of his fingers or, more worryingly, his lips. He clenched his aching hands a little tighter in his robes and, in the privacy in his own mind, swore. If the snow could just let up for a few moments, he could think clearly about what he was doing. All his body wanted to do was knock on the door in front of him and be let in, into a nice, warm flat with a mug of tea pressed into his shivering grasp.

Unfortunately, the person behind the door counted more for the comfort of warmth, so Percy stood where he was, determined to make a clear decision, never mind that he had already searched for the address and travelled through the numbing snow without coming to a decision yet.

With a sigh of frustration that blew out of his mouth like a mist, he stamped his feet a little to get some life back in it, glancing up at the sky which had gone an icy grey as it continued to pelt snow down. This was stupid.

--

It was a spring Sunday, and the sunlight shot straight through the windows of the Gryffindor common room. For once, Percy did not yell at the third years chasing each other and throwing sparks from their wands, nor did he ask Fred, George and Lee exactly where they were heading with that mysterious looking paperbag that trembled alarmingly. Instead, he quite nervously looked over at Oliver Wood, who was sitting in a chair at the fair end of the room, looking fairly regal bathed in light and in full Quidditch regalia. For once, he was alone, flicking through a magazine and glancing restlessly towards the Quidditch pitch out the window.

Squaring his shoulders, Percy stalked over, trying in vain to forget the one or four Butterbeers he had consumed That Night, or the feel of roughened-hands snaking up his back. It had all happened in a dark little corner in The Three Broomsticks, quite quick and Oliver had the audacity not to be ashamed of it. In fact, he'd go so far as to leer. Leer! Quite a lot! In -public-. It was ridiculous and Percy was about to put a stop to it. The walk across the common room had never been longer.

"Afternoon, Wood," he said, arms folding as Oliver looked up, then looked at the clock.

"Actually it's not yet noon, Perce."

"Morning Wood, then, and don't call me 'Perce'," Percy said snappishly, and frowned at Oliver's wide open grin that never meant good things were happening. Usually what it lead to was getting bought a Butterbeer and guided towards a shady table in the back of pubs. Percy determinedly didn't shiver. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just, you know. Morning. Wood."

Percy gave a frown that was quickly replaced by a grimace of enlightenment. "Now really, there's no cause for being vulgar."

"Did you want something, Perce?"

Not to be ruffled, Percy cleared his throat a little. As he spoke, the world melted away - it was just him and his voice. "I just wanted to say a few things so that we could make ourselves clear." Ignoring the look of mock concern and intrigue on Oliver's face, he continued on. "And our intentions. First thing, I think we both realise that it's better to leave certain events behind us both, as this is our final year at Hogwarts and we have lots to concern ourselves with, for example, NEWTs are upon us. The second thing I wanted to say is that in order to put such things behind us, we need to make sure we don't advertise it. Luckily, I believe what... went on escaped public attention, and I feel it's both in our best interest to keep it that way. We are in a standing of respect amongst our fellow peers, my status as Head Boy obviously demands attention, and your own achievement of captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team tends to attract publicity as well. Our titles lend us to certain critique, and if we can't act as appropriate role-models, then-"

Oliver coughed politely, startling Percy - he had nearly forgotten he had an audience at all - and then stood in a sweep of Gryffindor gold and scarlet, looking almost kingly. "Quidditch practice in about ten, I want to make sure the Hufflepuff team clears off," he said almost apologetically, before putting a hand to Percy's jaw before the redhead could twitch away. "But don't worry, we're clear." He grinned. "Clear as the mirror you practiced that speech to." And then, in full daylight in a crowded common room, he kissed Percy's cheek, patted him sharply on the other, and moved towards the exit, shouting reminders to the twins that training was soon.

Stunned, Percy glanced around, panicked, but no one had taken any attention at all. Both relieved and stunned, he folded up into the vacated chair, and looked out the window. He'd come to, well, sever whatever he had with Oliver, no matter how small and insignificant it was. And he had. But it didn't appear to be a cause of celebration.

He wondered if he could go and watch the Quidditch practice for a while.

---

The Burrow was never without chaos, especially during the summer. Percy tried to ignore it as he helped prepare dinner, the kitchen temporarily empty. Peaceful. He liked to think he never added to the pandemonium, but he knew he did. He shouted down the hallway to try and gain some peace and quiet. He sometimes gave into pettiness and chased after the laughing twins with some piece of furniture intended to exact physical pain. He bickered with the rest of them, and sometimes, if he really wanted to, laughed as well.

There was a clatter of generic cacophony as Fred and George walked into the kitchen - the usual thud of footsteps, the cut off laughs, the scrapes of chairs and the creak of suddenly weighted furniture. Percy sighed, and continued skinning potatoes one by one with his wand, back to his two younger brothers, and waited for the sarcasm. What he got instead was somewhat different.

"So how was snogging Oliver?"

A potato shot through the window, glass shattering, and Percy turned to them, stricken. "I'll beg your pardon?" he asked indignantly, flicking his wand at the window with a distant 'reparo'. The twins snickered and glanced at each other.

"It was all the gossip in the last few weeks, or didn't you notice?" Fred said innocently, head tilted.

"Reckon Clearwater hasn't caught on yet," George added.

"She hasn't caught on to a few things, mind, like the fact she's dating -Percy Weasley-."

"Who-- it's not true, you know, I never-- who said such a ridiculous--?"

"Dear Madame Rosmerta, of course!" Fred said cheerily. "She, Alicia and Angie were all having a bit of a chat-" He paused to shove George a little at the muttered 'the lovely -Angie-' and continued, "and -apparently-, Rosmerta spied you and Oliver having a bit of a go at it in the corner-"

"-and naturally, the girls told us, in hopes that we, as caring brothers, could help you out a little."

"We didn't, obviously, it seemed like a better idea to just tell everyone and see what happened, you know?"

"Cheating on your girlfriend, big bro," George said, tsk'ing and shaking his head. "We never thought you had it in you."

Percy could feel his blush beating under his skin, and it was suddenly quite hard to string words together. "Well clearly-- you shouldn't have done that-- it's all a lie, of course, she was-- I would never, why would I-- why would -Oliver--"

He stopped and allowed himself a moment of seething, ignoring the twins' identical looks of completely innocent concern. He was a Hogwarts graduate. He had a job lined up in the Ministry of Magic. He was going places. Petty bouts of gossip for something that hardly even happened were not his concern any longer. He straightened up with this new found confidence and put his hands on his hips sternly. "Well, when you both return to Hogwarts, I'll expect that you can handle any and all falsehoods about your own family. Otherwise, it is no concern of mine."

Haughtily, he turned to continue peeling potatoes, smirking a little. There was such comfort, in lecturing. All the words falling into place perfectly, getting across your point in a concise, authoritive manner without any um'ing and er'ing to take away from the severity. And, he knew that solved nothing, but it felt better. If he could act like it was nothing, then the rest would fall into place.

---

He'd almost forgotten. It had almost worked.

If not for a crowded little coffee shop in a Muggle street, no less, that offered no escape. Percy clutched his briefcase a little tighter as he saw Oliver through the crowd, inspecting baked goods behind a glass barrier. Percy only ever came to this shop because it was close to the Ministry and more and more, he was -needing- coffee, and he had no idea what Oliver was doing there, in Muggle clothing. It wasn't even very nice Muggle clothing - a polo-shirt with a hideous clash of sporting colours, and casual track pants that looked far too old to be worn in a public place.

But for some reason, the tall Quidditch player looked... great. He looked great. As healthy as ever, all twinkling eyes and muscles even baggy old clothing couldn't hide. Percy could feel a blush grow up his neck and he concentrated on not getting Oliver's attention as he edged towards the counter, trying to wind and duck through the morning crowd of Muggles in their business suits. Taking out the spare change of Muggle money he had, Percy mumbled an order for a flat white and rapped his fingers on the counter, willing the slow, utterly non-magical and thoroughly confusing coffee machine thing to hurry up, so that Oliver wouldn't--

"Morning, Percy."

Well... shit.

Smiling slightly too brightly, Percy turned to face Oliver. "Oliver! Long time no see, what're you doing out here?" he said grandly.

"Visiting a relative, mum's side is all half-Muggle."

"Lovely, lovely, I'm on my way to work. How's life treating you?" he asked, and listened with polite attention as Oliver talked about his Quidditch team, predictably. If he could bluster his way through small talk up until his coffee was ready, it would be alright, and he wouldn't go back to thinking of that stupid, stupid evening in The Three Broomsticks, full of awkward teenage fumbling and faulty kisses and nervousness that had made him want to throw up, and wet feelings of a somewhat experienced mouth making marks on his neck and gasps only they could hear and a faint graze of fingernails making red patterns on his back--

"Your coffee's ready," Oliver said, amused, picking at the bran muffin he had purchased.

"Right." Paying for it hurriedly, Percy offered a smile that he hoped communicated 'nice to see you, bye' and fled the shop, stepping out into the autumn chill. There. That was a relief. Now he could get to work and concentrate on things that mattered, like the bottoms of cauldr-

"Percy!"

He wanted to snarl. Clear as a mirror. Right. Turning, Percy opened his mouth to snap, then stopped at the coffee in Oliver's hand. "Oh, that's my, er..."

"...coffee you left behind, yeah," Oliver said with a smile, passing the paper cup over. "Figured you'd like it back, I take my coffee without milk, myself."

"Well, generally I prefer tea, but some mornings demand coffee," Percy replied without thinking, and felt his blush start to return when Oliver smiled and chuckled. He definitely had to go before he did something very stupid. Like this. "Would you like to get one sometime?" he blurted. "With me, that is. A coffee."

Oliver's smile changed a little, a little softer with less laughter, and Percy fidgeted. "You didn't practice that one, did you?" Oliver teased lightly, before shrugging, looking rueful. "Sorry, Perce, I'm sort of seeing someone at the moment. Probably would have been nice, though." A few moments silence stretched between them and Oliver nodded. "Right. Well, I'll see you around, eh?"

And he disappeared around a corner as Percy said, quite late, "I just meant as friends." As he turned to make his way to work, feeling a little empty, he realised how much of a lie that was, and took some comfort in the fact that he hadn't said it.

---

He hated how small the wizarding community was. You couldn't open the Daily Prophet without reading about a colleague, or listen in on a gossiping conversation and not know who they were talking about. Information travelled so fast as if by magic - which some of the time, it probably was. So, naturally, a girl in his department had to be married to Gregory Wood, who was, of course, Oliver Wood's favourite cousin who, obviously, was his confidante when Oliver broke up with fiancé Lauralie Mugwort.

Which was why Percy was standing in the cold, debating whether or not Mungo's took in loonies like him.

No one was outside, as everyone aside from Percy appeared to have common sense and were keeping warm indoors, rather than chasing after highschool fancies. Rubbing his nose, which now, he couldn't feel either, Percy stared at the door. This was stupid. He never trusted gossip before. Oliver would be dating someone else by now, and even if he wasn't, why would he want anything from someone he groped once?

Shaking his head at himself, Percy turned to walk down the stone, iced steps, and slid dramatically, skidding down the slippery rock edges, and ploughing straight into Oliver Wood. "Woah!" came Oliver's muffled voice, helping Percy get his balance and footing back. Yanking down the scarf to talk properly, as the woolly creation covered half his face, Oliver blinked at him. "What are you doing here?"

Well, it was now or never. Feeling exactly as he did under a year ago, standing in the common room with his Head Boy badge reflecting in the hazy sunlight, Percy folded his arms. "I just wanted to, um..." This was a lot harder than he'd thought. "To, um. Extend to you an offer of-of friendship and, erm, courtship, if you were-- if you weren't interested naturally that-that would be fine, I wouldn't mind if we wanted to be friends instead-- or even that, you know, no commitments, you probably aren't interested, it wasn't like we were moved in the same circles and really, we still don't-- I hardly expect you to-- in fact, this is all a little awkward, I think, you probably have better things-- I should go, I think, I'll stop taking up your--"

It was both a mercy and a... well no, probably just a mercy, when Oliver's warm mouthed was pressed against Percy's, stilling and calming it like a hand to a tense back, or a hand squeeze... only so much more effective. When they broke a part, Percy could almost feel his own fingers again.

"You didn't practice that, didn't you?" Oliver murmured, kissing him very quickly again before wrapping arm around his shoulders. "Come on, its bloody cold out here, you madman." There were no promises in that, not even in the kiss. But Percy didn't mind. Clutching onto Oliver, just because he could, he walked carefully up the stairs and into the apartment, with a smile on his face that would melt ice.

fin 


End file.
